Glass Shards
by PhoenixSapphire
Summary: Post DH. In 1998, the Trio left the wizarding world after the war, and are quickly caught up in a world of drugs, sex, and suicide. It'll take a certain family of redheads to bring them back home again. Please review


~*~*~

Harry said nothing, but kept his on the task at hand, which currently consisted of washing all of the dirty pots and pans in the kitchen, and making sure the bar was set for the dinner rush crowd that would be piling in by the droves in what happened to be one of the busiest (if not most disgusting) pubs in London. His hands were roughed and chapped from the filthy dishwater he was up to his elbows, and his boss was looking over his shoulder every two seconds to make sure he was doing his job.

_Fancy if the Prophet saw this. Boy-who-lived reduced to pot scrubber. I'll bet ol' Skeeter would do anything to get that story._

"I ain't payin' you good wages to sit on your ass boy! Get moving!"

_Sounds like Vernon. Looks like him too. Ugh. Never thought I'd find someone who slightly resembled him. Sod off, will you? Geez._

Harry plucked the equally rancid dish towel tucked into his belt, and wiped his aching hands quickly before tossing the towel onto the counter and grabbing a clipboard off the shelf. Besides being part time dishwasher, fulltime busboy, he took inventory when he had nothing else to do. The former boy who lived found himself inside the freezer, jotting down notes on how many bottles of gin and tonic were kept daily.

He came up missing four bottles.

_Shit. He'll take that from my check! Damn._

"BOY! I ain't gonna warn you again."

"I heard you alright! We came up short again. Four bottles this time." Harry grumbled,sooner he'd rather tell than later. The sound of heavy footfalls and in the next second Rufus bullied his way past the smaller man and spat onto the ground.

"Well, shit. If this ain't a kick in the head. You takin' it back to your whore friends out back?"

"Hermione and Ron are not whores." Harry shot back heatedly. In truth, they were in a sense, but there was no use in trying to argue with a drunk man when his salary hung in the balance. Rufus checked the shelves one more time, before kicking a rack out of frustration and stomped out of the room, cursing the entire time. Harry's fingers curled tightly around the clipboard he held and bit his tongue- hard too.

_Just a bit while longer. Soon, it'll all be over. Just keep your mouth shut._

Harry threw the clipboard onto the counter, nearly hitting one of the serving girls named Rita who was just coming on to her shift. Her shocking maroon hair reminded Harry briefly of Tonks, and his heart felt like it'd tear wide open again. The older woman's outfit consisted of a leather halter-top, a shorts, and not much else. Her ruby red lips curved into a pout, a mischevious glint in her eye.

"Awww, poor Potter-baby. Rufus giving him a hard time? I'll make you feel better."

"Sod off. Don't you know I'm not attracted to you at all?" Harry bristled at the women's cheeky advances- he certainly did not need her to feel any better about the situation.

_Plus, I already have an appointment. Fuck._

Although not a professional male escort yet, Harry did keep a few selective clients that Ron had arranged for him after work. He loathed the lifestyle, but soon it would all be over for the three of them, and then they could begin anew. Somewhere. Anywhere. A place all their own, away from London, the war, and especially the wizarding world. With his and Hermione's muggle backgrounds, they could easily blend into the normal world. But that day seemed such a long way off, and Harry was running low on patience at this moment.

"Rita, please. We'll talk later if we must. I've got a shift to start in about five minutes." Harry reached for a towel and dishrag, tucking them into his belt. Soon another ten hour shift would be starting, and he hated every minute of it.

~*~*~

"Bloody hell its cold out here!"

Ron Weasley blew on his hands, shivering in his muggle clothing, that he still didn't feel comfortable wearing. Although he had fingerless gloves on, the fingertips exposed to the harsh cold shook violently. The thin jeans, shirt, and denim jacket did little to ward off the chilly December nights. His red hair was matted, dirty, and grew to his shoulders, and even that did little protection to his ears and neck. Hermione stirred the fire barrel, coaxing the weak flames into a steady blaze. Pulling her parka around her with one hand, she fed rotten vegetables from the bar's bins into the blaze. The stench of burning garbage didn't phase either of the two young adults seated before it, letting purple fingers get licked by the flames.

"I don't' want to tell Harry we had a poor turnout tonight. We're already a week behind on with the rent as it is." Hermione said, pulling her gloves onto her own hands. Ron spat a mouthful of phlegm into his palm, and wiped it on his jeans.

"I just couldn't do anymore tonight. I feel like shit. This stupid chest cold."

"Yeah, I think I'm finally getting over mine too." The young woman admitted. "Perhaps we could try to patch that hole so the cold air doesn't blow all the time."

"We could, but we can't keep stuffing it with old papers. We'll have to get it fixed eventually. Probably cost a hell of a lot too." Ron snapped.

"Lets, lets not discuss this now. I'm tired, cold, and hungry. Harry's no doubt in a foul mood as well. I just want to get home."

" I do so love that roach infested, lice ridden rattrap we call a flat. We even have a hobo living downstairs too. He pees in the entryway sometimes too."

Hermione couldn't help but let out a pitiful chuckle. With everything falling down, why not add a peeing hobo? The duo remained silent for a moment, then the backdoor opened, and Harry jogged down the steps.

"You waited for me? I' m touched." Harry said, eagerly squatting down next to the fire, warming his hands.

"Mione and I had a slow night. We wanted to wait for you." Ron admitted. Hermione shot him a warning look.

"That so? Well, I did good myself. Scored some."

Harry reached into the fold of his ragged jacket, pulling out a small baggie filled with a white powder. The trio shared an all too familiar look of gleeful mirth, before Harry quickly stashed the small bag back into his pocket.

"I love you, Harry." Ron said, his eyes dancing with delight. Even Hermione's shoulders managed to lessen up.

"What is it this time?"

"Oh you'll like it tonight Mione." Harry said with an impish grin. " Scored some heroin. Trust me Ron, you'll never want to stick with pot after you get a whiff of this."

"I've even heard of that stuff, supposed to be pretty powerful." Ron said with a slight smirk. "I learned about it in muggle studies."

"Like hell you did!" Harry and Hermione chorused in skeptical shrill laughs. The redheaded man looked indignant at that, and puffed his chest.

"Damn straight I did!"

"Sod off ya git." Hermione said, planting a sensual kiss on his lips before getting to her feet. "Well I'm cold and I don't intend to freeze to death talking to you in this alley. I'm heading home."

"My point exactly. Gotta see if this stuff works after all." Harry said, rising to his feet. Ron got to his feet after a moment, casting a look back at the bar.

"They sell booze in there…. We're almost out." He had a hungry look in his eyes. His best mates looked at him imploringly.

"No!" was the reply in unison. Both of them turned and headed onto the main street. Ron doggedly trailing behind. As they walked shoulder to shoulder down beautiful lamplit streets, with children and their families happily toting shopping bags filled with holiday purchases, the trio could not help but feel slightly resentful of the festive merriment. There were exceptions, those who openly stared at them wit mistrust and distaste. They were ragged, unkempt, with wild hair and unchecked tongues.

"Mommy! Those people smell! Ewwwwww!"

A five year old well dressed muggle boy was pointing to them as the trio passed. An elderly couple sidestepped them, opting to go into the street to avoid contact with them. The man openly wrinkled his nose at them, even going so far to put a handkerchief to his face, inhaling deeply. The woman stopped, fished for some money, and placed into Ron's hand, who clutched at it tightly, and gave her a small smile of gratitude.

"Mommy why do those people smell?" the boy asked, his face showing clear disgust. The mother shook her head.

"They're most likely either too lazy or poor to afford soap. Honestly, we _have _shelters for their type of lot. Come along Michael, we're already late."

Taking his hand, the mother hurried them along the brightly lit street. The elderly woman rejoined her husband, who was equally annoyed.

"Come now Gertrude, they'll spend it on booze or something…. I swear, the nerve some of these punk kids have…"

Harry pushed forward, his closest friends behind him. They ignored the comments, although they hurt, making their way up one road, before turning down an alleyway to a dark and decrepit townhouse complete with the hobo sleeping the doorway. They stepped over him in sync, Ron reaching into his pocket for the key. He unlocked the door, and flipped on the dingy overhead bulb.

"Home sweet home." Hermione said, tossing her coat onto the floor. Ron went to the fridge, discarding clothing as he went. Harry shed his boots, coat, and scarf before going to the cabinet. He cracked his neck once.

"Should we light up first or eat?"

"Why not both? I need to relax after the shitty night I had." Hermione said, her voice coming from the bathroom. " which one of you left the lid up?!"

"He did." Both boys said, pointing to each other. Hermione came out, in boxers and a tank top, hair pulled back. Her arms had bruises from needles not hitting their mark, her neck adorned with hickeys. They sat around their grimy coffee table, partaking in old leftovers, while Harry prepped the heroin. A moment later they were sprawled on the floor, each escaping their own demons for at least a little while. The television blared on, unassuming to the three adults laying on the floor in a drugged stupor, a scene of festivities in London going on right now. The clock struck midnight. It was January 1st, 2000.

Happy New Year's.

_To Be Continued…._

_A/N: Please do leave a review. In the following chapter we take a look into the wizarding world two years after the trio vanished, and a certain family of redheads_


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